


Rosebud Boys

by bcwritingale



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-09-03 03:09:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16754902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bcwritingale/pseuds/bcwritingale
Summary: Baz gets a job unexpectedly in a flower shop with Simon, a worker he fell into when he accidentally tripped over the store manager, Ebb.





	Rosebud Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this for Carry On Countdown 2018! It's been literal years since I've posted on here.

**Baz**

I don't know how I got this job, really.

One day I was walking to class when I smelled a heavenly blend of cedar and rose and found myself entering a flower shop. The colorful floral selections on the walls distracted me as walked around, taken aback by the smell and the aesthetic. So much so, I failed to take notice of the older woman hunched on the ground fixing a bed of pansies. 

I tripped over her feet and would have crashed into a shelf of ferns if it had not been for the sudden presence of a young man with curls that glowed in the morning sun and a smile that could melt a heart of ice. Or, more specifically, my heart of ice.

"Whoa! Watch out! Don't want to upset the plants," he joked as he helped me back upright.

His chuckle took my breath away. How stupid. A chuckle? Really? That's what makes me lose all ability to think right and blush a dark red? Unbelievable. His blue eyes searched my face for a return in humor, but I just sneered and brushed out the wrinkles that formed in my blazer from the collision.

"Don't be ridiculous," I said. "Plants are inanimate. They don't _feel_ anything." His smile faltered at my remark, and he quickly turned his attention to the woman on the floor as she tried to stand up. 

"You alright there, Ebb?" 

“I'm fine, Simon. Thank you."

The man, Simon, I guess, gave her a curt nod and released my arms from when he caught me. I hadn't noticed that he was holding on until he let go. I could feel my face heating at the realization and urge to grab him and have him hold me again. I breathed deeply to calm my face as he looked back at me.

"Are you okay?" he asked with an intense and sincere gaze. It knocked the wind right from under me again. I nodded, unable to form a coherent response and stared back at his ordinarily blue eyes with as much intensity. 

I may not have been able to speak, but I didn't want him to know that he was the one causing that. I didn't want to him to think he got the better of me from just one look. 

Crowley, he was beautiful, though.

His steady gaze faltered at this power shift and he started to turn a rosy pink himself, his freckles more accented in the contrast.

"O-Okay. Erm. I'll just," he jabbed his thumb in the direction of a wood counter where a large binder with colorful tabs sticking out in every direction laid. He scurried toward it without another word, leaving me and the lady, Ebb, alone. I then realized I still hadn't apologized for kicking her earlier.

As I turned around to face her and apologize, she grabbed my shoulder with the strength of someone who could lift two trees at once.

Ebb leaned into me, staring intensely into my eyes. It was both terrifying and impossible to look away from. She hummed and patted my shoulder when she was done.

"You're a good one," she said, her stare unwavering. "How would you like a job? I'm afraid I'm getting to where I can't work at night no more, and, as much as I trust Simon, I don't want to leave him here alone during the rush hour at night. You understand, right? So, what'd ya say?" 

"I'm sorry, but I have no clue where this is coming from. I wanted to apologize for kicking you but now you're offering me a job?"

"It's good pay and it'd be only at night since I open mornings. We'd do all the training in a few weeks. It's pretty hard in labor but as long as you know customer service it's an easy job." 

Ebb continued to talk about the work they do as she led me through a door that read "EMPLOYEES ONLY". 

"Starting hours would be 5 to 9 for training, but you'd get more hours as you go. Oh! And this is Nicodemus." 

She gestured toward a slender man who looked almost exactly like Ebb sitting at a small desk surrounded by papers and a single computer that looked like it came straight out of 1995. The man nodded at me in passing, the cigarette dangling from his sickly lips burning faster than most. Happens when you buy cheap, I suppose. 

Ebb snatched the cigarette out of his mouth and tossed it into a nearby bucket of mop water. 

“Aw, c'mon, Ebb!"

"You know you can't smoke, Nicky. This is a green house, after all. Think of the plants."

Nicodemus laughed. "I'm sure they don't mind a little extra CO2." 

He stopped laughing and nodded toward me. "Who's the boy?"

I suddenly became very aware of the fact that I was not an employee and most definitely was not supposed to be there., but I straightened up and extended my hand toward him like I belonged there.

"Basilton Grimm-Pitch, but you may call me Baz," I said, shaking his limp hand firmly once before returning it to my side.

"Another one of your strays, Ebb? At least this one looks clean," he chuckled.

Ebb sighed and gave him a look as if to say that they would be talking about this later. She continued to lead me further back and grabbed an apron in passing before stopping at an exit door to put it on me.

"So, you start Monday, when the rush is dead, to get as much training in as possible. Just bring in your social and contact information so we can setup a schedule that works for you."

My head was spinning with all this new information. But, before I could ask or protest, Ebb was pushing me out the exit door with a smile and saying, "See you Monday at 5, Baz!" before shutting it in my face.

Did I really get a job by tripping over some woman in a flower shop? 

Yes, I realize as I stand outside of the flower shop at precisely 4:50 pm Monday evening, forest green apron ironed and crisp against my simple white shirt and black trouser uniform. 

I did.   
  
**Simon**

Did this guy really get a job here by tripping over Ebb and talking with her after? What was said, I wonder. Did he woo her with eloquent words and a smile? Do I really need help with the store when she's gone?

I don't think I do. At least, I think I can handle the amount of people that come in at night. It's the typical husbands who forget their anniversary or the newly engaged couple looking for ideas for their wedding arrangement.

Nothing I can’t handle on my own.

So why did Ebb hire a bloke with no experience to help?

He's strong as hell and great with people, I'll give him that. But he has no experience with flower care or how to work a bloody register. 

I show him where everything is and how to work the gardening tools, but there's not much else to do while he's here. He spends most of his training time reading the big binder, seemingly memorizing every flower type and their price. 

The next day he works as if he's been here for years, knowing every flower and their price. He even throws out the occasional trivia and meaning behind every arrangement he sells, wowing every customer that comes in. Damn, this guy is smart as hell and way more dedicated to this job than I thought he would be. 

My last coworker, Agatha, couldn't care less about the shop or flowers or anything. She dreamed of moving to America and becoming a model. 

She could've been. A model, that is. She was beautiful and carried an energy that demanded to be admired by everyone. 

She moved to America 3 months ago and not much has changed since. I thought there would've been more work load and an empty presence with her gone, but it's just been comfortable and quiet. 

Now the new guy is here and it's no longer comfortable or quiet.

His presence alone makes my face burn up, whether with rage or something else, I don't know. I can't form coherent words around him, and he smirks at me when I stutter, the git. It's not my fault his posh accent and eloquent speech throw me off every time I try to talk to him. 

It's also not my fault that I fall victim to his gaze when he looks at me. His gaze disrupts every thought I have and turns my brain into mush and static. I mean, whose wouldn't?

His dark grey eyes are intense and intimidating when he's in a 'zone.' He can be fucking ruthless with customers that come in and try to steal or scam their way to some free flowers, his grey eyes scaring them into giving up. 

But they're also soft and warm, like when he helped a little girl pick out flowers for her mummy or when he helped an elderly man decide on an arrangement for his wife's funeral. 

Maybe he'd always look that soft and warm if he let his hair loose once in a while. Once, he came in with no product in his hair after one of his exams, making that slicked back widow's peak a soft crown on his head. His long black hair framed his dangerously sharp cheekbones, making them look almost touchable. Almost.

Sometimes I catch him glaring at me while I lift heavy sacks of soil over my shoulder or when I tend to the plants. I don’t know what his problem is. If anything, I should be the one glaring at him for getting a job so easily when he doesn’t even need one!

Pitch’s come from money. Everyone knows that, even blokes like me. So why would a Pitch need a job in the first place? At the same time, I don’t know his story. He might have been banned or kicked out. Everyone falls on hard times now and then. Not right of me to judge.

He could at least call me by my name, though.

**Baz**

After working here for a couple of months, I discover that my handsome co-worker is also kind, caring, and strong as fuck. It’s infuriating, how gorgeous someone so simple can be. 

His simple blue eyes and simple moles on his neck and cheek that leave me in awe. His simple solutions to every problem that seem like they could never work until they do. His simple, wonderful laugh that makes the room feel warmer and more like home. 

I often stare at him in admiration. Although, he sees it more as glaring. Every time we make eye contact during one of my stare-offs, I sneer, and he rolls his eyes and continues working a little more haughtily. 

Maybe he does know I’m staring all love-stricken and drooling over him. Maybe that slight blush on the back of his neck is from knowing he’s being admired and not from being angry at the faces I make. 

Who am I kidding? The beautiful bastard thinks I hate him, and it’s all my fault. 

I learned his last name was “Snow” and have been teasing him since, referring to him by his last name. He absolutely hates it, which makes me absolutely love it. Ironic for someone so warm to have a name so cold.

“Snow,” I say as I sweep the foyer, his bouncing curls coming to a halt as he passes by. He seems a little peeved at himself for responding but gives me his full attention. 

I pick a dead leaf off the tile ground. I don’t know why, but I hand him the leaf and smile, just barely, in an attempt to. I don’t know. Try to show him I don’t _actually_ hate him? That I have the emotional range of a toothpick and can’t just tell him that I would love to snog the dubious expression off his face right now?

“It’s autumn, Snow. You know what that means.”

**Simon**

It means wedding season. 

Ebb couldn’t have hired a new person at a better time. And by better I mean worse because weddings can be absolute Hell if one little thing goes wrong. And, as the florists, it's up to us to help set up and make sure everything is as it should be. 

There’re the table arrangements, the pocket flora in the groom’s jacket, the occasional wedding favor, and most importantly, the bride’s bouquet.

There's a wedding tonight. It's outdoor and based on fall colors because _of course_ it is. We put together bouquets of red roses, orange marigolds, white hydrangeas, purple chrysanthemums, baby’s breath, pink rose buds, and sprigs of fern for the table arrangements. 

Ebb handled making the bride’s bouquet since she has the most artistic eye and nimble hands for the job. Baz and I took care of making the table arrangements. It took 4 hours of arranging, rearranging, and potting, but we got it done.

The whole time we sat there, barely a meter apart, I kept thinking about when Baz handed me that leaf. How he smiled almost unnoticeably, as if he was being coy and shy. As if we were five years young on the playground, and he handed me a pretty thing because he liked me.

Merlin, what if he likes me?

The thought alone makes my neck flare, and I can feel my heart pounding against my chest as if it’s screaming at me. I think back to all the staring. The blushing cheeks. The shared glances. The times he’s teasingly called me Snow. 

Merlin and Morgana. I think I like _him_.

**Baz**

Snow didn’t catch my smile. At least, I don’t think he did. But at least whatever animosity he thought I held toward him is gone. 

Ebb tells us we must be ready to go by 6 pm sharp in formal attire. Why the florists need to be well dressed, I will never know. I've been to posh weddings before, and every event organizer wore a work uniform. I guess Ebb wants us to look like a posh company. Or maybe the bride wanted the workers to blend in. 

Whatever the reason, I put on my best green suit as to keep the earthy, floral theme. Snow comes in wearing jeans and a jumper. Typical. I felt like something like this would happen.

Well, not this exactly. I brought a spare suit just in case something were to happen to mine. I wanted to be extra careful after the talk Ebb and Nicodemus gave me about the importance of everything going right or going to Hell when it comes to weddings.

“Snow,” I huff, straightening my shirt sleeve’s cuff. “Why aren’t you wearing a suit? Ebb said formal attire.” 

He looks down at himself and frowns as if he forgot what he was wearing. He looks back up at me, his mouth forming little dimples at the corners of his mouth as he pouts. 

He’s so cute. I could kiss that pout right off his face. But I don’t. I continue to look at him, awaiting an answer.

“This is the nicest thing I own,” he says. “I outgrew my last suit and can’t afford a new one.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Idiot. I’m such an idiot. I should’ve known that with our pay he would only be getting by with what he could. I sigh.

“I have a spare suit if you would like to wear it.”

His eyes widen and his frown turns into a small smile. 

“You brought a spare suit? Why? Thought something would happen to the one you’ve got?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” I spit. “Do you want it or not?”

He rolls his eyes at me, like he always does, but this time there’s a smile to it. A bit of mischief, as if he knows I don’t mean it as harshly as it comes out. I can feel my shoulders relax as he takes the suit bag and heads to the back to change.

Simon looks stunning in a grey suit.

**Simon**

We load the van in silence, sharing quick glances in each other's direction, but every time one of us catches the other, we quickly turn away. My face is flushed by the time we get in the van ourselves, and I hope he doesn’t notice. 

Baz gets in the driver’s side and I slide in next to him. His scent is more intense in such a closed-in space. It smells like the flowers in the back, but also of cedar and bergamot and tangerines. It’s oddly calming, his scent. I wonder if it’s a shampoo or cologne he uses to smell this heavenly. I don’t dare ask.

I take a few quick glances in Baz’s direction during the drive, taking in his overall sharpness and edge. There’s a softness there, too. His plump lips and slender fingers have my heart aching to touch them, to see if they’re as soft as they look. He side-eyes me, catching me in the act. 

“Why are you staring at me, Snow?” he says, as if he’s completely oblivious to the beauty he holds. 

How could I not stare? He’s beautiful and strong and soft and holy shit I can’t believe I like him.

“N-no reason,” I manage. Liar. I’m staring because I have no other way of taking him in without making it weird.

I snap my attention to the window and stare outside at the passing buildings and street signs, trying to keep myself from staring again, but I fail and continue to look at him every now and then. Whenever he shifts, I make sure to quickly look away in hopes he doesn’t catch me again. 

Baz turns on the radio to some classic station to fill the silence.

**Baz**

I can feel his eyes on me the whole car ride, watching me as if I’ll pounce any moment. Waiting for me to turn on him and go back to how things were.

He’s wary of me, I know. Why wouldn’t he be? I’ve been taunting him for months and have never reached out and been nice to him until that immature playground move of giving him a leaf off the floor. That was stupid and childish, but I didn’t know how else to show him that I don’t hate him. I could think of some other ways, but they all end up with me getting either slapped or reported for sexual harassment in the work place. 

Tchaikovsky fills the car as we edge closer to the venue. I take in a deep breath, the earthy scent of the van grounding me for what I’m about to do.

“I don’t hate you,” I say. 

Well, that isn’t exactly true. I don’t hate him. I like him. I like him a lot. To the point of obsession. Someone braver may even call it “love.”

“Excuse me?” he asks. I can hear in his voice that he’s scrunching up his nose and furrowing his brow, like he does when a customer says something to him when he’s not fully paying attention to them. 

“I don’t hate you,” I repeat. Crowley, don’t make me spell it out for you. 

I clear my throat, “I know I’ve been kind of a git toward you since I’ve started working at Ebb’s but know that there is no malice behind it. Any of it.”

“Oh. Alright. Thanks.”

It’s quiet again as we pull into a Victorian house’s driveway, Tchaikovsky’s aggressive piano making the air feel more tense than necessary.

**Simon**

We got to the venue just in time, setting up inside as the ceremony outside began. Ebb had driven out an hour before us to give the bride her bouquet herself. Ebb isn’t a prideful person, but she is proud of her work and loves to see the brides’ reactions to her beautiful creations. 

Baz and I stand awkwardly to the wall as family members and friends revel in the beautiful décor during the reception. A few people come up to us and tell us what a wonderful job we did and ask for business cards for their future events.

At some point Baz slips away leaving me alone with some girl I don’t know. She keeps touching my arm and laughing at everything I say, but I’m not being funny. I politely excuse myself and go looking for him.

I find him outside with a glass of champagne in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. I join his side as he takes a long swig of the champagne, the light bubbly drink glistening in the crystal glass.

“Where’d you find that?” I ask, trying to ease myself into the atmosphere. Baz sneers at the glass as if it offended him. 

“Open bar. You’d think a wedding so posh would serve better alcohol.” 

I laugh. Genuinely laugh. Of course he would think that. Of course he would criticize a wedding so high-end. Of course he would call the expensive bar’s alcohol swill. He glances up at me, his grey eyes glowing in the fairy lights as amusement plays on his lips. For the first time, I see a full smile on his face. 

It’s breathtaking. 

**Baz**

Simon’s laugh is like a drug. Once you hear it, you want to hear it again and again. I can’t help but smile. Maybe it’s the alcohol or the new environment, but I feel like I can be myself right now. I can be open and honest and not hide behind my aggressive façade. 

He stops laughing and smiles at me, eyes wandering my face as he takes in this new side of me. A side that I’ve wanted to him know for the past two months but have been too much of a gay coward to show. I feel naked under his gaze, but I stand there, drinking in this moment until I’m about to burst.

“You said you don’t hate me,” he mumbles. 

He shifts his feet and gets a little closer to me. I hum in acknowledgement as I stomp out my cigarette, the nicotine craving gone with him here. 

As I swallow the rest of my drink, he asks, “So does that mean you like me?”

I choke on the champagne and have a small coughing fit. Any cool demeanor I had is completely gone. 

“What are you getting at, Snow?”

His shoulders tense and his tone become defensive. 

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Maybe I’m getting at the fact that you might like me and that I might like you. Fuck, Baz. I don’t know.” He grabs at his curls and pulls on them, looking anywhere but at me. 

“I don’t know! I’ve been having confusing thoughts and feelings and I don’t know what to do with them, like, at all, and you’ve been such a git to me.”

“Simon, stop, you’re going to rip out your hair out doing that.”

“Then you go and give me a leaf and smile at me like we’re kids pulling pigtails, and I don’t know how to act around you anymore! Like, are we friends now? Is all that teasing you’ve been doing friendly banter or flirting?”

“Simon, I –”

“I can’t tell! And for whatever reason I’m hoping it’s the latter. I’m hoping it’s flirting and longing glances and bashful blushing, and I don’t know why –”

I take his hands in mine in attempt to get him to stop pulling his hair, but also to get him to stop talking. It works, thank Merlin. I feel my face heat up as I stare down at our hands, my fingers gripping his so tight I’m afraid I may break them. 

“Stop. Just stop. I’m sorry, Simon.”

I take in a deep breath and look at him. I look at his flushed cheeks and flaring nostrils and disarrayed bronze curls. I restrained myself from kissing him right there, from taking his face in my hands and melting away any confusion he has about my feelings.

“I’m so sorry I’ve been so awful to you for so long. It’s just that I haven’t liked someone like this, well, ever. I like you, a lot. And if you don’t feel the same way I understand.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Then _he_ kisses _me_.

**Simon**

He tastes like booze and smoke and earth. 

It’s a weird combination, but I can’t get enough of it. 

**Baz**

_Simon Snow is kissing me._

I can’t stop kissing him. 

He’s intoxicating. 

He pulls away for air and I chase him, kissing every mole and mark I’ve imagined kissing since we first met. He smells of lavender and rain and magic, and I drink him in. 

I drown myself in his scent before coming back for air through his kiss.

**Simon**

He kisses me back, the second time. I slide my hands out of his and drape them at the nape of his neck, tangling his hair between my fingers and gently tugging. He hums and wraps his arms around my waist, drawing me closer to him. 

_Merlin._

Merlin and Morgan and Methuselah, this feels good. It feels good to be in his arms and kissing rather than walking on eggshells around each other. I pull back one more time, and I can’t help but smile, a giddy feeling rising in my gut. 

His eyes dart all over my face, finding another place to target, a few loose strands framing his face to look soft and tender in the warm yellow light. 

“Does this mean we’re good? ‘Cause I like this much better than fighting,” I say, pecking at the corners of his mouth.

Baz scoffs and rolls his eyes, a mock sneer that forms more like a smirk on his face.

“We just snogged outside of a work event after blurting our pining confessions to each other. Yes, Snow, I think we’re a little more than ‘good’.”

“You called me Simon before.”

“Really? I don’t recall.”

I laugh, and his smile is back. We kiss each other, then. I hold his face in my hands and he tilts his head slightly to the side to let me know that he likes this better than fighting too.

**_END_ **


End file.
